


Precious

by naturalblues



Category: Doctor Who, Mad to Be Normal (2017)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 17:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10790961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturalblues/pseuds/naturalblues
Summary: It's the high Sixties, and Ronald Laing has made a mistake -- his loneliness and fear make him cling to a loveless relationship that's about to go too far. Suddenly, the only woman he has ever been in love with comes back into his life. Somehow, he's got to set things straight for himself; especially if he hopes to continue to help others.





	Precious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KTRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTRose/gifts).



> In the middle of a storm, Dr. Laing came home to find a wolf in his bed.
> 
> SPOILER ALERT: There are a few spoilers in this fic for Mad to Be Normal. I did, however, make it mostly my own. I added the Who Characters and tried to blend the story as best I could. But there are some things that are definite spoilers. If that bothers you, please don't read. 
> 
> This fic also deals with mental illness, and the way it was treated from the early 1900s through the 1960s, and will include the use of hallucinogenics as a treatment. If that or mention of any of the treatments of the day, or disgustingly (but timely) ableist attitudes might cause you harm, please click the back button. I want you all safe.
> 
> RD Laing in Mad to be Normal is (as the director called it) an AU of RD Laing. So don't confuse the two. However, in both the movie and real life, RD Laing stammered a lot. I'm trying to add his natural cadence to this fic without overkilling it.

_ “He doesn’t love you, you know.” _ _  
_

__  
_ Jim had just plopped down next to her. He’d become increasingly firm with her, to the point of scaring her.  _ __  
__  


_ “Good morning, Jim.” She was trying not to piss him off, to keep it pleasant, if she could. _

 

_ “Good morning, Angela.” He poured himself a coffee, his book on the table. It was a Bible. Great. _

 

_ She couldn’t help it. She was itching, wanting to leave his censure. _

 

_ “You’ll never be her, Angie. Ever. He’ll never love you, because you’re not her. He loves part of you that acts like her, looks like her, but he’s loving a ghost.” _

 

_ She wanted to leave, but now she was angry. “I look nothing like his ex-wife--”  _

 

_ “Who said anything about her?” _ _  
_

_  
_ _ His casual tone left her itching for a new reason. He was bullshitting. Had to be.  _

 

_ But she was curious. _ _  
_

__  
_ “Who is  _ **_she_ ** _ , then? This girl he supposedly loves? The girl I’ve never heard of?” _ __  


_  
_ _ He dodged her question, continuing on. “She had blonde hair, too. But she was much prettier than you. Pretty in the face, pretty in the soul. Had more meat on her bones. He liked her rump. Any man with eyes liked her rump, but she never acted like a harlot, was always dressed like a young lady should - covered. Liked those trousers, but was sometimes in a skirt. But she never acted…” He waved his hand, as if that explained it.  _

 

_ She knew what he meant. This nonexistent girl never acted like  _ **_she_ ** _ did. _

 

_ He continued on. “When he fucks you, he does it with you facing away from him, doesn’t he? Discourages talking. He doesn’t want to break his dream of it being her. He acts more loving when you act a certain way -- I’ve seen it. We all have. As soon as you act like she would, he’s tender, affectionate. Because he can pretend you’re her. As soon as you start acting like you, the dream is broken and he’s distant. You’re staying with a man who is clear to everyone else via his actions that you’re nothing but a place for him to bury his regret and pretend you’re someone you’re not, and you’re okay with that. Are you Babylonian?” _ __  
__  


_ His words felt like bullets. She wanted to protest, shout it was none of his business how she made love, but… thinking about it, he was right, and he knew he was right. Ronald liked to take her from behind. Whenever she’d speak, he’d shush her. One time when she didn’t hush, he’d stopped altogether, and left her frustrated.  _

 

_ What Jim was saying was that everyone who knew and was close to Ronald knew that he would never love her, that she was temporary, that she was clinging to something that didn’t exist and that she was pretending not to see the problems, and they all thought she was stupid. _

 

_ She was stupid. But she loved him so much… _

 

_ “Her name was Rose. Ask him about her.” _ __  
__  


_ She would. But now she was desperate. How could she secure her place in his life? _ __  
__  


_ A baby. Maybe he’d marry her if she got pregnant. _ __  
__  


_ With that plan in mind, she began to get ready for the party that night. He was coming back from his trip to see his kids, he would meet her there. She would beat whoever this Rose was. _

* * *

 

Coming back from the most exhausting party he’d ever been to in his life, the car ride home was silent. He didn’t feel comfortable sitting next to his… was she his girlfriend? They’d never really established. She’d just come into his life, and had been blonde, and a good balm to his wounds. But now she was tiring, cumbersome… and wanted a baby. She didn’t… act right anymore. When he’d met her, she’d been a tumble in the sheets that had just… stayed. But she’d had dreams, career goals, seemed to care about the experiment. Now, all she seemed to care about was trapping him. After what he’d learned today, his perspective had changed. When one’s parents died, they said, they began to feel their mortality. But when a child died, the parent felt a loss of their immortality.

 

He felt his age in his bones as he exited the taxi.   
  


He barely heard Angie say… something about chatting with someone on the phone, she’d be in their room soon. 

 

He didn’t care. He was numb. She’d definitely want to have sex tonight for that whole baby thing. It sounded exhausting. He didn’t know why he’d agreed -- yes he did, and that thought was something he didn’t want to brood on. She was the closest thing he had, and he couldn’t lose...

 

He walked into Kingsley Hall calmly, the same way he had a million times, except… the air felt a bit different. Something about it. He could see a Himalayan Salt Crystal sitting in the middle of the table. When did they get one of those? Hn.

 

He passed Jim, who looked pleased as punch about something or the other while reading his book -- which was a fairly welcome change from the way he’d been skulking about lately. Perhaps he’d be seeing a few better weeks around now. One could only hope. When Jim was doing well, he could really light up other people around him. He did always have a bit of a presence on him, one that other people felt a bit uncomfortable with, but that was due to his strong personality. He just came off a bit forceful was all, but he really was quite a brilliant, well read man. He knew Jim was dead on jealous of the time that he’d been spending with Angie, but it couldn’t be helped. He also, on a level he didn’t want to confront, knew that Jim missed Rose. 

 

But then he passed Paul walking down the hall, and the smile he was greeted with there also befuddled him.   
  


“Guess who’s here?”

 

…..What? Who? Paul needed to smoke less grass, he was getting all fuckity.

 

His question was answered the instant he came to the hallway where his room was, and he smelled it, the one scent that he hated coming across.   
  


Pine oil.

 

He was used to it around Christmas time, but it still sent him into a drinking, smoking rage where he’d be emotionally unstable for days. His ex-wife had had to call the police on him last Christmas over what it’d done to him. Smelling it had reminded him, the reminder made him drink, and they’d rowed something fierce before he’d finally gotten the nerve to tell her what he’d always wanted to tell her.   
  


_ I never loved you. I only married you because you got pregnant with Susie! What choice did I have, at that point?! _

 

It’d made her furious. Rightly so. But she knew, she always knew that, and there was almost a relief in her eyes that he’d said it. But his ex-wife was never one to let him get the last word. Her last words would always be worse.   
  


_ And you’re destroying your reputation to live in a warehouse of loonies. _ __  
__  


Instantly, he was offended, as she knew he’d be. But then she’d driven the sword home.   
  


_ And that young slip of a thing will  _ **_never_ ** _ love some old kook like  _ **_you_ ** _. _ __  
  


She was right. He’d known it in his bones. The fury that’d brought had led him, in his drunken state, to launch the book he’d been holding out the window, and the pine oil scent of their christmas tree had reminded him of the oil covered cotton ball she’d placed in his office in order to keep it smelling lovely.   
  


He’d started dragging his own things out of his own home, and had been disturbing the peace. Deserved. Spending the night in a drunk tank had taught him a thing or two, he’d supposed. Happy Christmas.   
  


The scent wasn’t really the problem as much as the fact that scent could trigger powerful memories, and there was nothing more powerful than hers.

 

It was the additional scent that sent him running down the hall like he’d lost his marbles, throwing open his own door, and seeing the most painful and beautiful sight. His heart clenched at the same time his fist did just at the sight of Rose Tyler sitting on his bed, wearing a pink shirt, an overalls/skirt combo, and… wherever her shoes had gone, he didn’t know, nor care. He just said the first dumb thing to pop into his mind.   
  


“Ye’ve cut yer hair….”   
  


He’d loved her hair, and had had the privilege of gripping it only once, for a deep kiss that’d ripped his soul and heart away from him and put them in her wee little hands. He’d almost taken her against his desk, stroking her inner folds had been the softest of flesh and it’d made him so eager to taste her. All he’d gotten were the juices from his fingers as she’d come to her senses. Once hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t wanted to wash his hands for fear of losing her scent. She’d come to her senses -- he was a married man, and her Doctor, and her Professor, and… he didn’t have the privilege of coming to his senses. She’d taken them.

 

But here, now, here she was. He couldn’t hear her. His heart was in his throat and his pulse pounded in his ears and he was drowning.

 

She made some comment about her hair, he could tell because she gripped a bunch between her thumb and forefinger, pulling it a bit with a wink. Then came that tongue-touched smile, and he was on her, arms wrapped around her tightly and kissing her temple. 

 

Gods, she smelled so fucking good. 

 

She loved using essential oils, all about that craze -- the amber oil clung to her natural scent like it’d been made for her, and had given him many a  _ hard _ time while he was in her presence before. She’d been the one who’d left the salt lamp, had to be. He lifted her fingers to his mouth, a soft kiss to the pad, but really an excuse to kiss her anywhere, touch her anywhere, take a deep inhale… he was intoxicated. 

 

It’d taken him nearly a year to forget how wrapped around her wee finger he was, and only a breath of a second to recall why. She was here. The universe wasn’t shitting on him for once. But maybe she was here just so the universe  _ could _ , so that her exit would leave him more bereft than before, and maybe not even the alcohol would be able to numb the vacuum of loneliness and emptiness that one felt when their soulmate was gone, permanently.

 

Because she was his soulmate, even if he wasn’t hers. The universe held so many mysteries, but there was one fact that he knew for certain.   
  


Ronald Laing loved Rose Tyler. Even if she didn’t love him too.   
  


He forgot everything, including Angie. There was only Rose.

 

She shivered as his lips lingered a bit too long, and as he caught her eyes, and cognac met chocolate, he was enraptured again. 

 

“I ran into Trixie…” she whispered, and he flinched, for two reasons. One, Trixie worked at Gartnavel, and if Rose had run into Trixie, she’d likely been admitted. But she was here now, so that meant that she must have been a self-admit, which meant that she was permitted to leave at any time she saw fit, unless they’d decided she was a danger to herself or others. Even if she went against medical advice, she was allowed to go.

 

Two, Trixie was the town gossip, of a sort, in their part of Glasgow. She knew all, saw all, and made it her business to check with everyone else so they had the story, and she ‘had the details correct’. She would harangue your ear off about other people’s issues with a sort of enthusiasm that made you wonder if she had a single life of her own. Those hours of night when nothing happened must drive her spare.

 

“Oh?” He tilted his head a bit, trying to maintain his charm and seem unaffected. There was a terror in his gut, however. If the problem he knew she must know was known, then he’d have to say it to another human. If he said it to another human, it was real.

 

Rose’s lip trembled a bit. “She said you’d gotten divorced… and I…. I just wanted to see you. To see…. how you were holding up, Doctor.”   
  


Not a total lie, but she always stuttered that way when she was trying to change her answer a bit, to sting less. Her use of the nickname she always called him told him that she was emotional, trying to soften the blow. Because it was never Professor, never Ronald, Ron, Dr. Laing; just ‘Doctor’. He fucking loved it, usually. Not now. Not in that tone that nigh on vibrated the air. 

 

_ She knew. _

 

“As you can see, I’m fine. We’re still here, right where you left us, things are working out well.” Trying to convince himself, or her? He couldn’t be sure.   
  


Rose just stared at him with those damnable eyes. She didn’t judge him, even if his words had caused her pain, but there was this string of sadness for him. She knew. She had to know.

 

His palms itched with sweat and his gut churned as he wiped them on his trousers, absently. “She… tell you anything else then, did she?”

 

Damnit, that wasn’t acting casual. How could he pretend to be over her, how could he pretend to be fine? 

 

She could only seem to muster up one word. “Susie…” and he could remember when his kids would come to see his night classes, every once in a blue moon. He had a few students that he taught special, ones who wanted to go into the career field and needed extra guidance for a specific thesis or the like. Susie had taken such a shine to Rose.

 

Rose had been the only one who wasn’t even in the department. She didn’t even minor in psych. She’d been an art student.

 

She’d asked to be in the program so she could get specific information, not taking Psych 101. She hadn’t liked the professor of the class, and the way he’d treated her when she’d told him of her interest.    
  


 

When she’d embarrassedly told Doctor Laing, she’d been met with a completely different approach.

* * *

_ “You’re not a Psych Major…” _ __  
__  


_ “N...no….” _ __  
__  


 

_ Her nervousness had surprised him, and she pulled her hair behind her ears with her pinkie before worrying her thumb. _

 

_ “My class is a bit on the advanced side. It’s mostly… eh… informational research. Mostly essay based. Someone from …. outside of the department might not find it suits. Try 101 if you have interest.” _ __  
__  


_ “I have…. interest that is too specific I was told. I asked other professors…” _ __  
__  


_ “Ah… the art student, right? Miss Tyler?” _ __  
__  


_ She visibly straightened, and looked into his eyes with a hardness to her gaze. She was a tough one. _ __  
__  


_ “I heard you were asking some of the professors about entering into department only courses. It’s not a wise move.” _

  
_ “I… I understand that you might not want me in your class, cos I’m loony, but ‘m not. I just want to know more about myself. If you can’t see that, then…. then you’re as big of an arse as Professor Reed!” _ __  
__  


_ He’d been captivated by that fire in her eyes. _ __  
__  


_ “Professor Reed discourage you then, did he?” _ __  
__  


_ “He said I should self admit. Me and my lot. Not be in college amongst normal students I could hurt.” _ __  
__  


_ “He and I… ah… don’t see eye to eye, you could say.” _ _  
_

__  
_ “....Okay?” _ __  


_  
_ _ “I have no problem… uh… if you’d like to take my class, and helping you… with your diagnosis. I don’t… really see why you shouldn’t be just fine amongst your peers.” _

 

_ It had been refreshing. Finally, someone who hadn’t seen her as a freak, or a moron, or a monster, or just stupid. _

 

_ Was it any wonder she’d fallen in love with a man who looked at her like she was normal? _

* * *

__

It was her voice, finally hearing it clearly, that prompted him.

 

He was enraptured, he was captured, he was finally free, and he gave into his pain as he crumbled into her arms. They ended up on the bed, with her holding his head to her chest and stroking his hair as he cried, letting him wrap his arms around her and ignoring the way it felt like he was trying to worm his way into her body, peel his way into her soul. She held him to her like she wanted him to climb into her, to become so close that they were only one being. He was complete, he could breathe her in and worship her body like he’d been pretending to with every other woman he’d fucked since.

 

The soft whispers of the nonsensical sounds she made as her short fingernails scritched his scalp lulled him into a sense of comfort. He was being taken care of, taken care of in ways he never was when she wasn’t around. He took care of everyone else to the point past fatigue and she had been the first one, and only one outside of his kids who had seen it, called him on it, and begun caring for him, completely unprompted, often with him grumbling that he was fine.

 

He’d been a bluidy idiot. He could’ve had her touching him all the time. Kissing him, holding him, late night chatting with him and he could’ve tickled her and touched her…. held her… done things to her that led her to crying his name in his ear like a prayer… he’d never heard that before from her, and he wanted to.

 

But now they were past him pretending that he only cared about her as a student, as a patient. Now he wouldn’t roll his eyes in a blasé manner and insist that he was fine when she tried to touch his face and gently care for him.   
  


Now he was thirsty for her, dying for her attention, and he’d be in shreds if she pulled away too soon.

* * *

 

_ “Tell me about myself…” _ __  
__  


_ “I can’t do that. Only you can do that.” _ __  
__  


_ She’d given him an irritated look while going through the newspaper clippings that the other students had left her. She was neglecting her art to listen to him speak in her night classes, and now was willing to abandon school altogether to follow him next semester to Kingsley Hall. He should be discouraging her. _

 

_ He didn’t. _

 

_ “Your disorder, you mean. Well then… Best to start from… uhm…. the beginning, as you’d say.” He was helping her with her papier mache project for her class, out of guilt at having been the one who’d caused her to not be able to attend class, claiming he’d needed her for some reason or another. _ __  
__  


_ He was still trying to figure out why doing things without her was becoming more and more taxing. Why he wished he could use his phone all day long to speak to her wherever she or he walked to. Maybe not talking, but if there was some sort of messaging system he could use, just to have her words with him. Just to know she was safe. _ _  
_

__  
_ He was bonding dangerously close with her. Of course he only cared because she was his patient, right? _ __  


__  
_ Right. _ __  


__  
_ “The terms used for the ….  ‘melancholy’, or the depression part of the ahh…. extremes… and ‘mania’ parts both have their origins in Ancient Greek. ‘Melancholy’ derives from melas, or ‘black’ and chole comes from the word for ‘bile’, ...because Hippocrates thought that depression resulted from an excess of black bile. Ah, well, in this case, it was…. well, the science of their time, I suppose. Imagine….what could’ve been accomplished without the scientific oppression from religion for a millenia.” _ __  
__  


_ He sure had a gob on him. But she was interested, and took some papers from his hand as she started painting them with the glue. “Okay… I haven’t read Hippocrates yet. Maybe I should.” _ __  
__  


_ “Maybe… I think he was a bit of a dickhead myself, but he might have some interesting…. things for you. ‘Mania’ is related to menos, or …. the word for ‘spirit, force, passion’; mainesthai ‘to rage, go mad’; and mantis ‘seer’, and ultimately derives from the Indo-European root men- ‘mind’ to which, interestingly, ‘man’ is also sometimes connected….. eh…. it’s all etymology at this point, but you see that there’s a reason behind the words and why people use them, right? Each scientific term that we have is rooted in some sciencey ponce from ages ago who had a wrong fuckin idea, but somethin right about it, hmm?” _ _  
_

__  
_ She grinned. She never felt stupid around him. A lot of the science blokes loved making other people feel less educated than they were, but Ron -- Dr. Laing -- never did that to anyone who wasn’t an arsehole to him first. _ __  
  


_ “The idea of a relationship between melancholy and mania can, ah, be traced back to the Ancient Greeks, and particularly to Aretaeus of Cappadocia, who was a physician and philosopher in the time of Emperor Nero, who had himself quite a few fucked up problems.” _ _  
_

__  
_ She looked curious, eyes brightened and a huge grin on her face, but he waved his hand. He’d never get through this if he didn’t stop trying to impress her. “Aretaeus described a group of patients he’d had in the wee back whens, ah… who would, as he said, ‘laugh, play, dance night and day, and sometimes go openly to the market crowned, as if victors in some contest of skill’, which obviously was manic at the most ultimate extreme, ah…. the ten on the scale of ten out of ten as you were…. but he said that they would then be found to be ‘torpid, dull, and sorrowful’ at other times, which, well…. was an earlier description of the depression end of it…. because the term ‘Manic Depressive Illness’.. … it comes from the fact that both of those extremes, well. Even back then it was suggested that instead of being a different disorder, it was two sides of the same coin, the same illness causing both.” _ __  
__  


_ He hated the way she lost a bit of her shine every time it was called a ‘disorder’ or an ‘illness’, and he knew why. She didn’t like the thought that she’d be sick, and hated even more that she could never get better. She hated not being normal, only because she hated being an inconvenience to others, one of whom was her mum. _ __  
__  


_ “The concept of Manic Depression Illness as a …. psychiatric term… it has its origins in the nineteenth century. In 1854, Jules Baillarger and Jean-Pierre Falret… both, eh…. both quite brilliant minds, and as ye know from me, that’s a compliment…. they spoke about the disorder to the Académie de Médicine in Paris, but they hadnae even been , working together. Baillarger called the illness ‘dual-form insanity’ whereas Falret called it ‘circular insanity’.” The heartbreak in her eyes was palpable. He wanted to make it better, lessen the sting, if he could, but she deserved to know about her own illness. She deserved it. “But… since then, a lot of studying has been done, and has found that there’s two forms of it. One that is tied with psychosis, and one that is yours, Rose.” _ __  
__  


_ Her lips were trembling. It’d hurt less and more to hear about her…. problem… illness. _ __  
__  


_ “You’re more episodic, Rose. Manic Depression Illness that is episodic means that you spend a lot of time mostly even on your own. You go through episodes, triggered by stress, excitement… the whole gambit… where you fall from one extreme to the other, and the episodes can last for weeks. Some longer, eh… I suppose. But you might seem like you’re getting… better, but you fall even further a few days later. It’s the chemicals in your brain, and it’s genetics, and you’ve done nothing wrong to cause it, Rose.” _ __  
__  


_ She’d burst into tears then, covering her mouth and abandoning her project altogether. _ __  
__  


_ He’d held her then, tightly, and ignored the relief to his body, the way touching her felt like easing every pain he’d ever felt. He stroked her hair -- fuck, it was like silk -- and had rocked her gently, back and forth. She clung to him like her life depended on it, like he was her anchor. _ __  
__  


_ “I’m so scared…” she sniffed, when she could finally speak again. He didn’t know when he’d ended up on the floor with a lapful of woman, but he held her tight to him every moment, rocking her back and forth softly as she spoke. “I’m scared that I’m too much for people, that they think I’m annoying because I go manic, or depressed. I’m too much work to take care of, I… I can’t have a normal life, what bloke’d marry me? Can you imagine me with kids, then having an episode? I… I’m a shit friend, I’m a horrid…. student. I’m usually okay, but then people…” _ __  
__  


_ “People?” Her pain hurt him, being laid open for him like a vein.  _

 

_ “People get drawn to me, see. I’m naturally extroverted, social. I love people. I’m funny, and I know the right things to say, and I care about them. I care about people so much. I try to help them so they never feel as sad as I can feel… but then when I get too happy, I feel annoying. I asked one of my friends if I’d annoyed her, and she’d said that she was grateful she only had to see me for a short amount of time, during our lessons. She’d meant it as a joke, but…” _ _  
_

__  
_ “But for you, it was a painful point.” _ __  


__  
_ She nodded against his chest. “I… I get sad, and I can’t move right for days. I feel like a robot, forcing myself to function. I feel five times my own age, and I stop speaking to people, and sometimes I stop speaking at all. I just wait for them to forget me.” _ __  
__  


_ “Forget about you? Whoever could forget you, Rose Tyler?” _ __  
__  


_ “People do. They always do. They always decide I’m too much work as soon as an episode hits, one of the other. I’m too weird, I’m too sad, I… I just learned to stop talking about it and pretend I’m fine. I pretend I’m fine and force a smile and then people all think I’m fine, even though I want to scream because I feel on top of the world, or I walk around feeling numbed from the inside out, wanting to die.” _ __  
__  


_ She must’ve heard his breath catch. She tried to explain herself. “I’ve only been really bad sad a few times now… just…. maybe...  I stare out the window and watch the world pass me by and I would give anything to be a part of it but I’m trapped. People don’t call me, they don’t write me, but they become offended I haven’t kept in contact. They think I abandoned them. They launch accusations, and feel personally offended by the fact I don’t… feel like other people do. Like I owe it to them to always be one way. But I can’t help it, I’m just trying to hold onto myself. I don’t mean it. I don’t. I just want to be normal, but I can’t.” _ __  
__  


_ “Normal? Ye want to be normal then, do ye?” _ __  
__  


_ She looked into his eyes, and suddenly his heart clenched and his brain told him what he already knew. _ __  
__  


_ He was in love with her. Had been for a long time.  _ __  
__  


_ “You’re mad….” he’d told both her, and himself. Her rueful smile imprinted itself on his heart. _

 

_ “I hate myself a lot… because I can’t… stop them when they happen. I just…. but I’m fine, a lot of the time. Peppy, even. I just…. I don’t want to talk about it anymore… I’m tired.” _ __  
__  


_ “You’re you, Rose. Anyone who couldnae accept that, doesnae deserve to have you about in their lives. You’re just fine. That’s my diagnosis. You know what makes you different, and we’re going to work on getting you tools to handle it, but a lot of times, time is what you need. You deserve time. I’ll be here. You talk to me more when you’re ready. No judgments. No nothing. I’m just here for you.” _ __  
__  


* * *

 

They spent a long time there, him resting on her, letting her gentle sounds soothe him. She held his hand, she ran her fingers through his hair, let him cry it all out. He wailed his daughter’s name and curled himself into a fetal position, clutching her body.

 

Then he started talking. He never told his problems to anyone, but.... he needed to tell her. He let the words spill from his mouth, all about Susie, about how she’d been sick for a while but he hadn’t seen it, no one really had. About how he’d been told not to say it, but he’d said it because she’d  _ deserved _ to know. She’d had the  _ right _ .    
  


“I…. I told her, that I’d helped her enter this world, and I would help her leave it…”   
  


Rose cried with him, and as he lamented all of those missed opportunities with his children -- it felt too late. He’d missed so much of her life, what kind of shit person was he to try to suddenly be there for her now? To fit it all in at the very end, hoping for high marks like some student who didn’t  _ really _ give a shit, but didn’t want to look bad? How must Susie feel about all this? He’d never really considered, he’d just been angry with her mother and his own for electing to hide her death from her. They were going to tell her it was just a cold, and so when she died it’d just come as a surprise for her, perhaps she’d go in her sleep, ideally. How fucked was that? She’d never even know it. Just not wake up one day, and have no fucking clue like the rest of them had that she was going to. He wanted to see her more, hold her and try to help her through this… how did one help their own child prepare to die, anyway? Not that it mattered, his ex wife was barring him from seeing her. He could get a court order, but by the time it mattered his daughter would be dead.

 

At one point, he heard the door jiggle, and Angie call his name. She wanted to know why the door was locked. He usually locked his door when he was having a session so that no one could interrupt and further trigger the patient. Angie should know that.

 

He met Rose’s eyes, seeing the question there, but he shook his head. She understood, she always did, and he held her hand to his mouth, then his heart.   
  


_ It beats for you… _   
  


He was trying to tell her.   
  


_ Not her. You. _   
  


Angie knocked again, and he ignored it again. She went away, thankfully, cursing openly as she stomped down the hall in her clunky heels. 

 

He stroked up Rose’s thigh, to her side, and continued staring her in the eyes. 

 

“New girlfriend?” she tried to joke lightly, but she sounded hurt.   
  


“Worse. Someone I let into my life because I was lonesome,” he whispered, never breaking eye contact with her, the rumble of his brogue felt like it vibrated along her skin.    
  


“Lonesome…” Her lip trembled a bit. He didn’t know what was going on in her mind, but making her sad… “Do you… do you love her?”   
  


“Love her? Angie?”   
  


“Is that her name….” She sounded more like a cheated on wife than someone whom he’d never dated. But she never raised her voice. Just sounded a whisper, soft and defeated.   
  


“No, I never did. She just… fuck, there’s no nice way to put it.”   
  


“Then put it the mean way.” Her voice was a bit firmer now, tinged with uncried tears.   
  


He spoke like he was telling someone else's story. He was too numb.  
  


“She was a hot blonde student I met at a restaurant. I took her back here and pretended she was you. I let her stay because, well... She acted so cute, at first. Fiery, a bit arrogant, caring, passionate. Adventurous. She was blonde. She looked like you, if I squinted hard enough. I didn’t… feel like you were gone as much, sometimes. Other times, when I realized she was her… um… I… eh, well, I felt lonelier than before.”   
  


She looked away from him for a second. Disgust? He was disgusted with himself, it sounded fitting. Using someone like that… he should never have. But then she looked back at him, and she was angry instead.   
  


“If you missed me so much, why didn’t you come and get me? Come visit me? Trixie said she told you I was at Gartnavel. I was there for four and a half months. You never came to see me, not once.”   
  


“She never told me a damned thing. I haven’t seen the bint since I was still married. Since before you left.”   
  


She stared him in the eyes, and he could see the moment she believed him.

 

“I waited… every day I waited, thinking that maybe you were angry with me for how I went in. It was bullshit, the way I got admitted. I’ll tell you about it… later, if you want…”   
  


A smile spread across his lips as he moved closer to her, nose to nose.   
  


“Are you… staying long enough for a later, then?”   
  


He tried not to sound too hopeful.   
  


“I was thinking of it. That you might convince me.”   
  


“Mightn’t I?” 

 

“If you wanted me back about…. here. Jim does.”   
  


Of course Jim did. Jim adored Rose.   
  


“I want you back here, as long as you want to be back here. I’m not going to force you into any treatment.”   
  


“So that’s how you’ll have me, then?” She sat up a bit, so his head ended up on her tit. He wasn’t complaining. God, she was fucking soft.

 

“...I mean, If you… ah… wanted to come back, I assumed… “ The second part of her sentence, the funny way she’d phrased it. “I get to have you, then?”   
  


She flushed down to her chest, and he tried really hard not to look. Really difficult.   
  


“I mean, me coming back here. Can we not say ‘patient’...?”   
  


He smiled softly, and nodded. “Of course.”


End file.
